In July, Carol and I visited two attractions that really contrasted with one another in interesting ways. The first was the MacNider Art Museum in Mason City, Iowa. The second was the great SPAM Museum in Austin, Minnesota.

We visited the MacNider one afternoon, after touring assorted architectural works by the "Prairie School" masters of that area, including Frank Lloyd Wright. The MacNider building used to belong to General MacNider of WW II fame. It was originally a mansion of extremely impressive quality (the woodwork in the first section is exquisite). The museum has added modern wings for extra gallery space, and they are quite pleasing as well. Of course, being an art museum, photography of any kind is absolutely prohibited, so I have no way of showing any of the interior to you. For a small museum, I thought they did a very good job of covering each major genre in the history of American art. They have some originals that are extremely significant, and all are very well presented.

At the moment, they're exhibiting the University of Hawaii's "Shoebox Sculpture" contest winners. Carol and I both found this exhibit frustrating, annoying, and ultimately depressing. The competition's premise seemed reasonable enough: We saw no specific explanation in the gallery, but assume that each artist had to submit a work that would fit in a standard shoebox. Some of the pieces must have taken enormous skill to create, and a few even demonstrated at least a little knowledge of sculptural forms. But many appeared to be random assemblages of dead things, or worse. Not knowing what the rest of the entrants looked like, it would be difficult to blame the contest judges for picking poor work, but a fairly large proportion of the collection was, in any case, vile.

It was actually the makers' own descriptions of the objects that I found most disturbing. The overwhelming majority claimed an interest in "challenging" this or that "notion" or "convention," usually with a specific left-wing political end in mind. The phrase "gender identity" was common throughout. A few of the nasty little biters claimed to be particularly disgusted with the facets of modern culture that actually provided them the resources to pursue their education. Some of the contest winners were clearly Marxists, attempting the violent overthrow of the capitalist world through aggressive juxtaposition of broken toys and ordinary kitchen trash. Apparently, if one aspires to be an artist today, it is important to find a way to express maximum hostility to anyone that might actually see what you do.

It occurred to me that the new orthodoxy in art culture is simply shock and offense. For a little over a hundred years now, successive waves of artists have developed new styles that that often upset the established artistic standards of the time, but the shock itself was never their primary intention (or so I thought). Today, without some element of shock or offensiveness, a piece of art is considered inferior. What a sad state of affairs; dedicating one's creative power to producing negative reactions in others. Personally, the last thing I'm going to buy is some crude manifestation of someone's feelings about they way they were potty trained.

Now before you accuse me of being an ignorant Philistine, remember that I have a small amount of formal art education. In fact, in an excruciatingly sophomoric scheme, I sometimes inserted inappropriate material in my own paintings at the Academy to prevent them from being harvested for the permanent collection. (I found nudity to be the only sure fire preventative.) And I actually understand (what used to be called at least) modern art, and I even like a lot of it. But, in my opinion anyway, the art world has been seized by a rigid convention of revolutionary offensive attitude. If you aren't dark, edgy, or advocating the forced overthrow of one thing or another, apparently you just don't cut it today.

The next morning, we went to the SPAM museum. We'd picked up a particularly wacky advertisement for the place a few months ago in South Dakota, and since we were in the neighborhood, thought we'd swing by for a look. What a riot. Picture an immensely expensive, beautifully designed facility that exists only to make people happy by making fun of itself. Hormel was very clever with this. If they took themselves seriously, nobody would show up. So by turning the whole thing preposterously kitschy, they've made it into an opportunity to sow good will, and thus serve as positive marketing. Brilliant.

Here's the entrance to the SPAM museum. Note the subtle way the architects have evoked the curved shape of a SPAM can with the windows. The traditional SPAM can colors of yellow and blue are everywhere.

Even the parking spaces out front remind you of where you are.

After entering under the giant wall of SPAM cans, you are greeted at the welcome desk by some veteran Hormel employees, and this happy can character. Later, the employees brought around "SPAMples" for everyone to taste. I found the "smoked" flavored SPAM to be surprisingly edible. Next, you come to the CyberDiner, where you can cruise the web for SPAM info, and learn more about what you'll see in the museum.

Note the clever integration of the computer hardware into the SPAM motif. The egg yolk is actually the ball of a track ball pointing device. The pat of butter is the mouse button.

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I'm not sure what is the coolest part of the CyberDiner. Is it the groovy retro design of the graphics, or the opportunity to take embarrassing pictures of fellow tourists being fondled by the happy SPAM can in the background?

After the CyberDiner, you reach the George A. Hormel theater. Look at the way the doors evoke the face of a smiling pig. The SPAM "Love Story" movie is, of course, just as tongue-in-cheek kitschy as the rest of the place.

Believe it or not, the list of ingredients in SPAM is very short, and really hasn't changed since the stuff was created in 1937. They now make a number of special flavored variations, including a smoked one and a spicy one. All that stuff you heard about weird meat cuts is flat wrong. It's just ordinary pork shoulder and ham, with a little bit of salt and spice. There's one added preservative, but even that one is pretty pedestrian.

This whole WW II exhibit is pretty funny. Soldiers complained bitterly during the war about getting SPAM at practically every meal. Very little of it was really Hormel SPAM though, and was instead a wide variety of things made by other manufacturers. But the museum has a lot of fun anyway with the "contributions," real and imagined, that SPAM made during the war.

I love this TV-in-an-ammo-crate display that Carol is watching. Other museums try to do stuff like this, but I've never seen such professional work before.

Hormel sponsored a number of famous radio shows to advertise SPAM in the 30s and 40s. Here, Carol operates a sophisticated mockup of a 40s radio studio. Obviously, it kicks out recordings of great SPAM ad moments.

SPAM is actually produced in several countries around the world, five if I remember correctly. Note the scale-correct Mercator projection of the world on this display.

It must have been really fun putting this together. I guess that goes for the whole hilarious museum.

This display runs old SPAM TV adds. Very funny, and a very cool presentation.

SPAM memorabilia from around the world. In the seats, you can sit down and watch famous international cooks prepare exotic recipes using SPAM. They give you copies of each recipe too, although I doubt I'll be preparing SPAM kim-chi anytime soon.

Check out this expensive mod furniture, in SPAM can colors of course.

This crazy overhead conveyor contraption hauls about a zillion SPAM cans throughout the museum.

They have cans representing every kind of label and product from the entire history of SPAM.

In some places, the thing seems to be pulling them along slowly, and others faster. A true feat of engineering silliness.

I loved this giant exploded model of a SPAMburger.

How do you flip a giant piece of SPAM? With a giant spatula.

I wonder how much these things weigh. What are they made of?

The quality and craftsmanship of all the exhibits is formidable. Some very smart writers and artists must have had a blast designing this thing. And since it's intended to please people, they were able to get the resources to actually execute their designs. Gee, maybe the shoebox schlocksters might think about attracting more bees with honey than vinegar...